In which I once more solidify my place as the least popular man in America…
I read something the other day which said that men get roughly the same endorphin rush off of looking at pretty women as women get from eating chocolate.
I have no idea if that’s true or not. But if it IS, it explains an awful lot.
Like why I’m sitting in the parking lot at the drugstore playing “amber lamb paper-bag-puppet” with my four-year-old girl, and stop to think to myself “yes, that is the definition of a bubble-butt, and I approve” before going on with the sorts of hijinx that makes four-year-old-girls snort and giggle — mostly Daddy being politically-incorrect and not letting visitors come in the house unless they wipe their butts after going potty. And no, visiting puppet, “sometimes” doesn’t cut it.
Mama never talks like that, but hey, Daddies are little girls’ introduction to Planet Male.
I was thinking about what I’d read when I went back to “let’s keep the kid giggling and screaming in faux-hysterical outrage” when I noticed a guy in a pickup truck, also in the parking lot… smoking a cigarette, and watching the same gal. Now, let’s be clear. He wasn’t doing anything wrong — as my four regular readers know, I’m not about to start apologizing for having been born with testicles, and I’m not about to lash into this other guy for being male either. Because last I checked, that’s not a crime. Yet. Mostly. It’s not even a crime yet to say you’re a guy and want to get laid.
But it did occur to me that if there had been “eyeball lasers,” or “eye lines” as my kid puts it, this gal, who was not exactly a looker but was by far the most interesting thing to look at in the drug-store parking lot (in addition to having a perfect bubble-butt in spite of also having an adorable kid in tow — props to you, lady, whoever you are!), that there probably would have been two or three other lines going on as well. Not all of the eyeball-lasters, of course, would have been fired by men.
Now, on the other hand, I’m not even vaguely apologetic about checking somebody out – for better or for worse, men judge women’s beauty based on their physical appearance. Tell a woman that a guy is rich, and she instantly perceives him to be more attractive. Tell a guy that, and he doesn’t give a shit – he may respect her for her achievements, or want to cadge on her bank account, but it will have zero influence on whether he rates her as attractive or not. It all goes back to that whole perpetuate-the-species thing.
A rich guy is likely to take care of your kids much better than a poor guy….but whether you survive childbirth in the era before modern medicine is pretty much a game of physical and genetic fitness. Now take the above picture, and figure out what the male side looks like now that we’re rocking a 30%+ obesity rate (“just plain fat” seems to be around 75% where I live), and you can figure that there’s a lot of gals falling off the right-hand side of the cliff and screwing up the system. And since we don’t have effective cloning tanks and still perpetuate that species by, you know, fucking — well, nowadays, that leads to problems. One of which being, all the guys were looking at ONE gal, rather than all the gals – because, well, chubby-chasers are out there, but there are way fewer of them than there are obese women nobody wants to look at. Oops. Judgments. Yeah, that’s harsh, but in the actual real world, people make judgments constantly. And they’re not all on the same page, either….
Not everybody’s comfortable with getting checked out. This photo makes the rounds a lot. Dirty secret, for those SWPLs who would never DARE to lower themselves to eat at a Hooters, is, not only are the buffalo wings really damned good, but for the most part, the gals working there are pretty happy and well-adjusted, too. And it’s not an act — anybody who’s been in the restaurant business for ten whole minutes can tell when their wait-staff is actually glad to show up, versus when they’re looking to cut and run and will probably do a crap job on the side-work at the end of their shift. But let’s look at the other gal in this pic for a minute.
And let’s be sympathetic, rather than snarky to that. The “misandry” folks are out to lunch here. Emotions do not have moral value, and her emotions in this pic are deserving of considerable sympathy. Empathy, maybe, maybe not, but let’s go there for a minute anyway, shall we? Not all women are comfortable getting checked out, or comfortable getting looked at by men. That’s especially the case when gals assume that a guy’s interested in a woman just because he checks her out (hint, ain’t so). If you’re a chick, and you know a dude, I guarantee you he’s checked you out.
Guys adore women who are comfortable with that and who can realistically accept guys for who and what they are, without assigning them false attributes (in either the positive or negative direction). Gals are checking you out, too — only instead of your “display,” (biologically speaking), she’s checking you out as a competitor. That’s why hell hath no fury like a group of plain women suddenly having to interact with a stunningly beautiful woman. I’m not the only person who’s been a witness to rafts of just truly UGLY rumors and horrible gossip being spread by X women about Y woman for no other reason than that they can’t stand her being more attractive than they are. It’s real.
A woman who’s not comfortable with living in a society of men checking her out? Ouch. Where’s she going to hide?
The answer here isn’t for anybody to apologize, unless you’re the sort of doof who stares at a gal’s tits while she’s talking to you, because what are you, fourteen? You look at her tits when she’s talking to somebody else. Sheesh, dude. Have some class. I think the answer here is mutual understanding and patience. Gals need to understand that a lot of men think that women are, to put it bluntly, a royal pain in the ass, and that their interest in getting laid is the only reason our species even survives. Checking women out is baked into the cake, and needs to be. Ladies need to understand this.
And it wouldn’t hurt the dude in the pickup to realize that yeah, the gal with the bubble-butt and the adorable kid might have issues, doesn’t understand men, or, for whatever reason, isn’t really down with that, to be a bit more subtle and make her day a little easier in the process. Compliment her earrings; talk about something adorable your wife did. Communicating “I am not a threat” isn’t hard. You don’t kick a man when he’s down, and you don’t pick a scab when it’s raw… a little mutual understanding and sympathy goes a long way.